Dude, That Wasn't Me!
by The-Turducken-Affairs
Summary: Sam and Dean may be hunters and heroes and responsible for the world's survival more often than not, but they're also boys who were raised on diner food, motels, and the underbelly of America's back roads. Or: The One Where Sam and Dean Talk About Bad Smells and Farts. (Any season, no spoilers)


**A/N: I'm hoping this is funny, but if it's not, I'm hoping it's at least mildly amusing or cute-ish. **

**I love when people tell me what they think about my stories!**

**Disclaimer: These boys ain't mine.**

* * *

Sam and Dean have been in town for a few days now, tracking down a lead Bobby gave them about people being slashed and hacked and chewed to death. Apparently, anyone who went to the local swamp was targeted by some sort of monster that would try to kill them, or, if they got away, track them down in order to finish the job.

Why anyone would feel the need to go to the swamp, neither boy could figure out. But ignoring people's weird reasons (_"Demons I get. People are crazy."_), Sam had plodded across the town, checking out local legends and coroner reports, supplementing blanks spots of knowledge with internet research, until he finally came across an answer. They're hunting a Swampmare.

According to lore, they were used as mounts by some warrior tribe or another. Luckily for Sam and Dean, the tribe was not very fond of their large, ugly steeds and had eventually killed off almost all of them. The one they're hunting now is a straggler who seems keen on some sort of revenge against any humans who invades its territory.

Sam fills Dean in on its knack for using webbed claws and fangs, its ability to turn into a tree when it feels too threatened to fight, and its vulnerability to fire. The two work out a plan ("_I'm thinking we should bring flamethrowers.", "Sounds good to me Sammy." _) and then they're ready.

Later that day, around dusk when people are less likely to notice two large men carrying flamethrowers, Sam and Dean sneak off to the marsh. It's muggy and hot and every step they take comes with a resounding _squish_. The two are prowling along the edge of the swamp when, alert with hunter senses and adrenaline, Dean stops.

He turns to Sam, flamethrower angled downward, overwhelmed, and says, "What the hell Sam?"

"What?" Sam remains focused, gaze passing across the marshland.

"Dude, seriously?"

"What Dean? What?" Now Sam jerks his head towards Dean, giving his full attention in an effort to get Dean to say whatever it is he wants to say.

Face distorted in disgust, Dean opens his mouth, "Ah man that is so gross."

"What? What's gross?"

"…You don't smell that?" Dean is suspicious, but Sam looks on innocently. Dean starts to think maybe Sam's nostril cavities are permanently damaged. It would explain why Sam doesn't seem to hesitate to eat foods like broccoli, cabbage, and beans.

"What, the nasty swamp smell?"

"That's… That's what that smell is?"

"…Yes?" Sam seems completely lost. Like this is weirdest conversation Dean has ever started, which Dean knows for a fact is not true.

"Oh." Oops.

"What else could it have been?"

"…Nothing."

"Did… did you think that was me?" Now Sam looks hurt, like Dean kicked the puppy Sam always wanted but never got ("_Oh good," _Dean thinks,_ "Because I was just thinking that mistaking my brother for swamp stink wasn't bad enough_.").

"No?"

"You jerk, you totally thought that was me! I don't smell that bad!.. Do I?"

"What- no, of course not Sammy."

"Ah man, I do smell! What am I doing that makes me smell like _that_? Seriously, why would you think that swamp gunk smell was me?"

"Well, it doesn't smell like _you_, it just smells like your farts." Dean doesn't even know why he thought that would make Sam feel better.

"That does not make me feel better." See?

"…You could always lay off the beans?"

"But beans are cheap." Now Sam is just being difficult. What a bitch.

"Do you _want _to be mistaken for smelly swamp slime again?"

"…Well no, but-"

"I'm your big brother Sam, trust me. You should lay off the beans. Seriously Sammy, you would not want to be me when you-"

"Alright Dean, I get it! Can we get back to the hunt now?" Now Sam is whining, sounding just like when he was nine and Dean had taught him what a noogie was first hand.

"Fine, fine, whatever you say _Samantha_."

"…You're such a jerk."

"Bitch."

The two pick up their forgotten flamethrowers and keep walking, although now Sam seems a little more disgruntled. Dean thinks he'll let Sam set the Swampmare on fire.


End file.
